There are things
about Queen of Earth that I
appreciated, such as the narrative resemblance to psychological thrillers such
as Ingmar Bergman’s Persona or Roman
Polanski’s Repulsion and (to a lesser
degree) Rosemary’s Baby. The trailer
even has a stylistic resemblance to films in this sub-genre from the 1970s, despite
the style being much more subdued in the actual film. Then there are aspects of
the relationships in Queen of Earth
that I was unable to appreciate, if only for the simple fact that I belong to
the wrong gender.

Jenny’s Wedding is more competently made
than the screenplay from writer/director Mary Agnes Donoghue deserves, thanks
entirely to a cast willing to commit to outdated material always on the verge
of turning into a film you would see on the Hallmark Channel. The basic
structure of the film is all melodrama, enhancing the singular note of the
movie with endless montages which utilize pop songs to convey the emotions the
filmmaking is incapable of, but the tone of the movie takes on the air of a
romantic comedy. The result is a breezy piece of bubblegum LGBT propaganda with
a stacked cast.

Narratively
speaking, Time Out of Mind is so
simplistic that I was certain the concept would never hold for the two-hour
running-time. Then I began to notice the stylistic choices filmmaker Oren
Moverman was making and realized that this is a film that needs to take its
time for the approach to be effective. It is also a story made for the
cinematic art form, at least according to Siegfried Kracauer’s list of the
medium’s unique functions in his essential work, Theory of Film: The Redemption of Physical Reality.

Slow Learners opens with a couple of
scenes that are brilliantly executed, and also set up the oddball tone of the
comedy fittingly. After about 1/3 of the unique narrative about two socially
inept school teachers with atrocious dating skills, the story shifts into a
series of predictable and cliché plot structures. Even worse than this
predictability, however, are the scenes in which the improvisational comedy
made me stop laughing and feel embarrassed for the actors. However uneven the
overall experience of Slow Learners may
be, there are enough funny scenes to make enduring the bad ones worthwhile.

I have struggled
with much of Noah Baumbach’s filmmaking, if only because of his tendency to
focus on narratives with extremely flawed characters. In some cases, this suits
the stories being told. It would be difficult to show the strain of a divorce
without exposing the way that it can bring out the worst in the family being
torn apart, as he did with The Squid and
the Whale. But even in that film the problem I had with the characters had
little to do with the mistakes that they made, but rather, the superiority and
condescension used as they refused to admit fault in themselves. From that film
on, Baumbach has had a fascination with pretentious and unlikable leading
characters, a trend which only seemed to increase as he began collaborating
with actress Greta Gerwig, who rose into relevance through a movement of film
centered around performances so intentionally raw that they are often more
annoying than amusing.

Frank Capra is
often credited with making the first screwball comedy with It Happened One Night in 1934, and in 1938 he perfected it by
adapting the popular stage play by George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart into an unforgettable
American film classic. You Can’t Take It
With You is significant for many reasons, including a breakout performance
from James Stewart that would lead to collaborations with the director in some
of his most beloved classics (Mr. Smith
Goes to Washington,
It’s a Wonderful Life). But beyond
historical significance is a simple story of universal appeal, one which had
the heartfelt sincerity and optimism that was instantly recognizable in a Capra
film. The story may be Kaufman and Hart’s, down to the dialogue transferred
over from the play, but Capra embraced it as his own and created a cinematic
collaboration as timeless today as it was nearly 80-years ago.

Partisan sets up its plot with a certain
level of ambiguity and mystery, which had me hooked from the beginning. I can
always respect a film that doesn’t spoon-feed its audience members, but
unfortunately much of the intrigue set up was lost within director Ariel
Kleiman’s lack of interest. Instead, this remains a film about the characters,
though Kleiman fails to see how establishing the world in which they live has
an impact on the characters within it. Partisan
contains impressive performances, though there is little to relate to when we
are given so little understanding of where they come from.

Borrowing the name given to his “Glasses
Character” in one of his earlier classics, The
Freshman, Harold Lloyd returned to this role for his final silent
performance in Speedy (1928). As well
as showcasing some of the best gags in his career, Speedy gave audiences a ticket to the fast-paced lifestyle of New York City. At the time
it was a pleasantly comedic depiction of the chaotic hustle and bustle of ‘The
Roaring 20s’ in Manhattan, though it now serves as a magnificent historical record
for those too young to remember.

I must admit, I
entered into Wolf Totem with the wrong
expectations, mistakenly thinking the narrative was similar to the nature films
director Jean-Jacques Annaud has done in the past, such as The Bear or Two Brothers.
Despite the wolves being the most sympathetic characters in Wolf Totem, they are not the
protagonists, though the bigger difference lies in the treatment of the
animals. The sheer relentlessness of the brutality against nature and the title
animal makes Wolf Totem a near
impossible endurance test for animal lovers. The film is presented in both 2D
and 3D on the Blu-ray, though there are far too many scenes I would prefer to
have not seen at all, much less in 3D.

Despicable Me was a clever concept in
its decision to make a villain the protagonist, and it got away with this by
making the narrative about his inevitable redemption. Minions, the off-shoot prequel about the oddball lackeys that do
Gru’s bidding, succeeds in having their villainous tendencies (or admiration
for those who have them) because of their utter incompetence. In an opening
sequence which the rest of the film has a hard time following, we are given the
origin story of the Minions throughout all of history. While simultaneously
showing their propensity to follow the most despicable creature around, this
introduction allows for a series of amusing gags in their clumsy inability to
keep them alive.

Documentaries
are so rarely unbiased that we have sadly come to see the examination of facts
on screen as little more than propaganda. This is not to say that there isn’t
truth in the information being provided audiences, but it is no longer enough
to simply accept everything you are told in a non-fiction film. Most views
expressed can be countered by the opposition, but this becomes more impactful
when the facts provided in a documentary come into question. It is one thing to
share one side of an argument, but it is another to adjust the facts so that
your side has more strength. The reality is that many of the truths in The Hunting Ground have been
overshadowed by the instances in the documentary where facts are stretched and
bent to support the cause.

It is clear
about halfway through Goodnight Mommy
that the Austrian horror film will make a perfect companion film to either
Michael Haneke’s Funny Games or Under the Skin, though the obviousness
of which would be more fitting depends on the effectiveness of the film’s red
herring on each viewer. Filmmakers Veronika Franz and Severin Fiala lay out
clues to figure out the reality of the film’s narrative early on, but often
pairs them with enough evidence to counter with an alternate possibility. This
makes the film far less about a final twist and much more about the uncertainty
and doubt following the most likely answer to the central question.

WWE Studios
continues their awkward transition from scripted wrestling melodrama to
scripted cinematic melodrama with the latest of their family productions. Santa’s Little Helper stars their
regular performer, Mike “The Miz” Mizanin (Can I take a moment to point out the
redundancy of including someone’s nickname when it is already an abbreviation of
the last name; it ends up just sounding like an echo), along with Paige’s film
debut. Despite having two wrestlers in the cast, the film refrains from blatant
WWE promoting, and the storyline requires a surprisingly minimal amount of
fighting between them.

It is truly a
sad state of affairs when the most impressive acting in a film featuring Meryl
Streep and Kevin Kline is a performance from former rock icon, Rick
Springfield. Not since Will Smith and his obnoxious pseudo-celebrity child
collaborated with M. Night Shyamalan to make the post-apocalyptic disaster of a
film, After Earth, has an actor been
so horribly blinded by the urge to work with their own undeserving offspring. This
is the kind of performance that would kill most careers, though the lack of
famous actresses her age allows Streep the freedom to make a Mamma Mia every few years, without
repercussion. As much as Streep’s growling and guttural performance as an aging
wannabe rock star may be like nails on a chalkboard to anyone who has ever
actually held a guitar, it is nowhere near as obnoxious as the obviously
nepotistic casting of her real-life daughter, Mamie Gummer. And all of this is
sloppily held together by a lazy and reductive screenplay from Hollywood’s favorite
stripper.

Assassination is a historical action
film, a period ensemble blockbuster with many twists and turns in the narrative
and enough characters and tonal shifts to force audiences to work for their
entertainment. This doesn’t make for a bad film, just one that requires a bit
more attention to fully appreciate the spectacle. Although I am always an
advocate for appreciation of international cinema, this is also a film likely
to carry additional relevance for those who have lived through (or are at least
familiar with) Korean history.

Some films based
on a true story are banking on the unbelievable nature of the narrative,
whereas Jimmy’s Hall has a screenplay
that never hits an unexpected note. Even at the peak of the story’s excitement,
the volume of the action remains subdued enough to remain tied to realism above
all else. While this may make for accurate storytelling, it does little for the
excitement of the entertainment. Though director Ken Loach is able to
accurately capture the feel of the period and place in Jimmy’s Hall, this
attention to detail does little to improve the thin narrative and
underdeveloped characters in Paul Laverty’s screenplay.

What is most
remarkable to me watching Bad Boys
again, 20 years after its initial release, is how early in his career MichaelBay began the bad habits we now
associate with his overblown style of filmmaking. Most disturbing among the
similarities Bad Boys shares with his
future films is the blatant objectification of Téa Leoni, who looks
unbelievably similar to Megan Fox in The
Transformers. The manner with which Bay poses his actresses and allows his
camera to leer at them is prime example of the “male gaze,” which is as much
his signature as large explosions are.

PBS has a
longstanding tradition of blending education with entertainment and the arts,
and with the early satirical sketch show, “The Great American Dream Machine,”
they brought politic discourse into the mix during a time it was most needed.
When the series began its short-lived run in 1971, Americans were wrestling
with a number of political issues, from the Vietnam War to environmental
conservation. “The Great American Dream Machine” provided an outlet for a humorous
approach to the conversation, only able to exist because of the unique
alternative that PBS provided to traditional commercial networks.

I have always had a difficult time choosing a
favorite Pixar film. I end up undecided, bouncing back and forth between
several I have equal appreciation of while ignoring the choices I really want
to make because of their unevenness. The answer I always want to give is either
Up or Wall-E, but only for the realism in their opening sequences. Both
of these films also lose me when the grounded style of the beginning is
interrupted by a jarring return to a sillier, more cartoonish style. Though Inside Out also utilizes this
fantastical style, it somehow also manages to remain as emotionally and
intellectually grounded as those opening sequences I love, and with consistency
throughout the entire running time. Previously, Pixar has proved more than
capable of making clever films, but Inside
Out is their most intellectually rewarding endeavor to date. This film
provides lessons for young children, with just as many rewards for their
parents to appreciate.

The Stanford Prison Experiment is
consistently compelling, a fascinating telling of true events grounded by
believable performances and a relentlessly tense tone. The entire experience of
watching the film was riveting, despite a disappointing lack of commentary on
the events. We are drawn in by the realism of Kyle Patrick Alvarez’s direction
and the dedicated performances from the solid ensemble cast, but the screenplay
adapted by Tim Talbott from Dr. Phillip Zimbardo’s book fails to contextualize
the events. When the experiment from the film’s title was completed, it was
followed by endless interviews and studies to understand the events; the
audience of The Stanford Prison
Experiment is merely given a few minutes to investigate these ideas as the
credits roll.

Labeling Two Men in Town as a crime film is
somewhat deceptive, although there are crimes committed and the main character
is a recently paroled criminal. The criminal activity we see if carried out by
characters other than the protagonist, who spends a majority of the film
attempting to earn redemption for his past. This is a drama about the
difficulty of rehabilitation, though it does so with the narrative manipulation
of a particularly villainous police officer. Created as a strong statement
against the death penalty in France
(which would be abolished eight years after this film’s release), Two Men in Town is a message movie which
manipulates the audience’s emotions a bit too much to stand up beyond its
political agenda.

Code Unknown often feels more like a
film by Krzysztof Kieślowski than Michael Haneke’s follow-up to Funny Games (1997), and I say this with
the highest regard. It is not just that Code
Unknown stars Juliette Binoche, who starred in one of the films in
Kieślowski’s Three Colors trilogy,
but also a similarity in theme and style. Though the narrative construct is
different, this film continues discussion of social themes often found in
Kieślowski’s work, such as Blind Chance
(1981). And like much of Kieślowski’s work, there is an ambiguity to Haneke’s
narrative, forcing the audience to participate in the deconstruction of its
meaning.

The Indonesian
film industry has seen a boom in recent years, primarily due to the success of
a few influential films in the international marketplace. This includes the
financial success of the action franchise which began in 2011 with The Raid (the sequel was funded in part
by selling the rights for a Hollywood remake currently in the works), as well
as the critical reception to Indonesian-based documentaries, The Act of Killing (2012) and The Look of Silence (2014). But each of
these movies, however successfully they worked within the Indonesian film
industry, was directed by foreign filmmakers. The Golden Cane Warrior, on the other hand, proves that an
Indonesian director can also create a technically polished film.

There is a
magnificently unexpected moment within Seymour:
An Introduction, from which the tagline of the film was born. Filmmaker
Ethan Hawke is having a conversation with legendary pianist Seymour Bernstein
about the struggles of striving to live life “more beautifully.” Bernstein
questions whether Hawke can achieve this through his career in film, a question
which leaves the actor tongue-tied. If a life dedicated to the arts is not
about commercial or financial success, what is the ultimate goal? These are the
questions investigated in Seymour: An
Introduction, a film chronicling one man’s decision to leave behind fame
and wealth for a modest life teaching his art form as way to “play life more
beautifully.”

Documentaries
recently have begun to fall into distinct sub-genres, with a majority made up
of biographies and those with political and/or social agendas. Though you could
argue elements of the latter in Do I
Sound Gay?, it is more of an investigation of a specific social phenomenon,
never taking a strong stance or carrying a specific purpose. The answer may be
too simplistic for a feature-film discussion, which is why the personalization
of the topic by filmmaker and journalist David Thorpe helps to pad the
narrative.

Even after
completing Hungry Hearts, I’m not
entirely clear on what type of film writer/director Saverio Costanzo intended
to make; what begins with a scene that suggests a subtle romance slowly sinks
into a schizophrenic narrative about mental illness unable to decide whether it
is a thriller or a drama. Even when it seems clear that the screenplay would
have us treat the material as somber melodrama, the music and stylistic camera
choices that Costanzo use suggest that Hungry
Hearts a psychological horror film in the tradition of 1970s Roman
Polanski. Either way that I consider the film, it doesn’t work for me, though I
will admit that elements of the narrative certainly succeeded in leaving me
unnerved.

In Carol
Clover’s crucial critical analysis of feminism in the horror genre in her book,
“Men, Women, and Chainsaws: Gender in the Modern Horror Film,” the critic
popularized the term ‘final girl’ in reference to the sole survivor within the
slasher sub-genre. This ‘final girl’ is typically seen to survive due to the
purity of her character (no drinking, drugs, or sex), enforcing the
conservative ideology of Reagan’s America during the 1980s even further by
showing the bloody demise of the characters displaying weaker moral compasses. This
is where the significance of the title for The
Final Girls originated, though the opportunity to reference classic slasher
horror films is wasted beyond a basic premise for the rules of horror. None of
the postmodern discussion of horror structure extends beyond one simple
observation, and this merely feels like a rehashing of better movies, such as Scream and The Cabin in the Woods.

Adam Sandler’s
involvement in another lazily constructed comedy is not surprising, though I
find it oddly fascinating that the quality of his films seems to diminish as
the budget increases. While none have been masterpieces, some of his smaller
productions have fared far better than these sophomoric blockbusters. Pixels boasts the premise of a
special-effects driven action-comedy, but it has the approach of a mildly
immature family film made on autopilot.

This is clearly
a film made to be appreciated by young adults alone, and this is apparent by
the ultimate message that the worst thing a teenager can be is responsible. Paper Towns actually reminds me a great
deal of Juno, another film where
pretentious hipster behavior is embraced as superior. Thankfully, unlike Juno, that judgmental representation of pretentious
behavior is not found in the protagonist of the narrative. Whether it is me
showing my age through my preferences, a poor adaptation of the original text,
the failures of model Cara Delevingne as an actor, or a combination of all,
less time spent with the character of Margo makes it easier to appreciate Paper Towns.

These days it is
common practice to film several sequels at once, but it was still a daring
decision when Back to the Future
utilized this method. This is one of many ways that the time-travel franchise
predicted the future. Back to the Future:
Part II was released in November of 1989, with the end of the film
containing a trailer for the third film set to be released in the summer of
1990. This was prior to the splitting of every final book in a series, before
trilogies were planned out without the success of the original release, and
when there were still few enough blockbuster franchises for these films to be
culturally significant. 30 years later and the dynamics of the industry have
drastically changed, but the influence of these films has stood the test of
time.

Not only are the
three films included in The Benoît Jacquot Collection all from the 1990s, they
each have a connection in themes and characters, especially when considering
the commonalities in the young female roles. I can’t decide whether the
approach is feminist or merely a representation of how the beauty of youth is
coveted by an endless stream of middle-aged men in all three narratives. Either
way, the ideas from these movies only work because of the enigmatic and
captivating performances from Jacquot’s leading ladies, each balancing
somewhere between girlishly adolescent behavior and the maturity of womanhood.

The title of
Ettore Scola’s film could be interpreted several ways, as the events of the
narrative take place during an important day in Italian history but may have
even more significance for the two leading characters for completely different
reasons. A Special Day takes place
during Adolf Hitler’s visit to Italy
and Benito Mussolini in 1938, which remains at the center of the narrative
despite nearly the entire film taking place at a working-class apartment
building. After the film opens with 6-minutes of actual newsreel footage, we
remain distanced from these events, despite the constant radio broadcast as the
background soundtrack to the narrative.